


Take Me With You

by yokomya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post Season 5B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t explain but I’m kind of a mess around you,” Stiles murmured, clearly uncomfortable admitting to it, “It’s weird.”</p><p>“Fine, let’s jog your memory then,” Scott decided, lowering his hand from the table, “Come on.”</p><p>And even though Stiles has never trusted a soul in his life without an endless list of information to prove that they’re safe - he took one look at Scott and stood up, following him straight out of the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me With You

It was around the time Lydia saved Mason from the clutches of the beast curse.

The pack seemed fine - well about as fine as any of them could be after everything that had happened. They kept too much buried inside, didn’t cope enough with the trauma of their everyday lives.

Maybe that’s how it happened to Stiles.

All the trauma over the years - the hardly talking about it to anyone, because they _didn’t_ talk about anything - had caught up. It must have shut him down.

The spiral started one afternoon at school.

Stiles had come up to Lydia and Scott during lunch. He greeted Lydia. Then he left.

It wasn’t too odd at first. Scott assumed Stiles just wasn’t up for talking that day. Afterall, they hadn't coped a whole lot since the aftermath of their _breakup_. Not really.

But it happened more often.

Stiles would converse idly with most of the pack, be his usual sarcastic self, but he would always get weird around Scott. He squinted at him. In a way that made Scott’s chest heavy.

 

“Okay, who the hell are you?”

 

That’s what he said to Scott one day when they were alone by the lockers, before Lydia arrived. Stiles glared at Scott, the kind of look he directed at people he later deemed  _evil_ and _untrustworthy_.

 

“Um.”

 

Scott had never been so speechless before in front of his best friend. Stiles crossed his arms.

“Are you stalking Lydia or what?” he asked quickly, stepping forward.

Scott thought it was a joke. Until Lydia spoke with him later and said Stiles wasn’t joking at all. Stiles had no idea who Scott was.  

Apparently, he remembered everything - supernatural or not.

Except one little thing.

Scott.

Everything she mentioned about Scott went right over Stiles’ head. He had no clue who she was talking about. He couldn’t remember anything related to Scott.

Learning this, Scott went silent.

Because how do you deal with that on top of everything else?

After an eternity of being separated emotionally from his best friend, they were finally in a good place again. And then the universe decided they didn’t deserve that.

Scott couldn’t handle it. Not on his own. Not without Stiles.

Which was the whole problem.

So instead of facing Stiles like he should have done way before now, he distracted himself in the library - tried to raise his gpa so college could be on the horizon again. He played music in his ears in the hallways, he kept conversations with the pack short because he was afraid they would mention Stiles. Everyday, he told himself that maybe this would pass.

 

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up and Stiles will say - _I was kidding, as if I could forget you_.

And Scott will say - _You’re  kind of a jerk but I love you anyways_.

 

Only in his dreams.

 

Scott scribbled a lot when he lost concentration on his studies. He wrote and drew random snippets. Most of them were about his best friend. God, it hurt.

At least when he was fighting with Stiles for that dark period of time, when Theo manipulated them, at least he knew they weren’t separated for good. At least he knew they were going to find a way back to each other. They always managed to.

They were Scott and Stiles.

This time didn’t quite feel so hopeful.

Scott ended up at the library on a Friday evening, bored with his textbook. He started scrawling out lines from a song Stiles once sent him when they were in middle school. He didn’t even think about it - he just wrote. It made him swallow a solid lump in his throat and slide the notebook off the table aggressively.

 

“You look like you’re having fun.”

 

Scott shot his head up and found Stiles bending over to pick the notebook off the floor. It was a strangely polite thing to do. Normal Stiles would have teased Scott and maybe threw it at him just because that’s what they did. The two remained quiet as Stiles slid into the seat in front of Scott. It was beyond weird.

Not even a minute passed though before Stiles leaned forward on the desk, fingers dropping to his lap, amusement faded.

“Scott, right?”

 

Someone kill Scott please. Just kill him. It’s not like he didn’t die in a library once before.

 

“Yep,” Scott responded stiffly, unable to really look at Stiles. Part of him hoped the amnesia would have miraculously disappeared by now.

“You’re certainly conversational,” Stiles sighed, leaning back in his chair, stretching his legs out comfortably.

Every fiber in Scott’s body buzzed harshly - telling him this isn’t right.

He wished he knew what to say.

Stiles didn’t take any books out or anything, he just stared at Scott for a while - obviously not caring about how rude or awkward he was being. It was uncomfortable. Scott licked his lip and looked up, raised his eyebrows, and a whirl of emotion hit him all at once. Sitting there was his best friend. Looking as he always had.

Except to Stiles, Scott was a stranger.

It hadn’t been that long since they last spoke but it felt like light years. Not like they had much of a chance to chat since the whole breakup ages ago. They never really rekindled anything after that, not exactly, so this amnesia thing was a punch to the gut.

Stiles kept scrutinizing Scott - skeptical and in wonder, picking him apart, trying to figure something out on his own. Okay. That was Stiles alright.

“Nobody will talk about you when I ask,” Stiles informed slowly, dragging his heels against the carpet until his sneakers hit the wooden chair, “Except little things.”

“Like what?” Scott replied on impulse, torn apart on whether he wanted to know or not. What had his friends told Stiles?

“You’re a true alpha,” Stiles started, “And from the sound of it, some kind of werewolf messiah. I don’t know if everyone intentionally kisses your ass or not but being part of Scott McCall’s pack is supposedly a big freaking deal.”

Scott cracked a grin despite the harsh tone. A throbbing rose in his scalp though because of what that meant. Sure, it was good Stiles understood they were a pack and all that greatness but he didn’t know anything about _Scott McCall_. The human Scott. The one before the werewolf bite. The days of being _nobody_.

When it was just them.

Stiles sighed again and wiggled anxiously, lowering his voice.

“I remember stuff, you know? The kanima, the berserkers, the beast. I get that crap but you - you’re kind of a blur. It’s like, in my head I can kind of see you there but not really. I have these distorted visions that don’t make sense. Did I mention it’s frustrating as hell?”

“Sorry,” Scott retorted, feeling the tension in his shoulders intensify. Stiles looked at him odd.

“Why? It’s not like you did anything.”

Typical Stiles. Trying to talk Scott out of guilting himself. Even if he’s unknowingly doing it.

Stiles moved his legs again, as if he couldn’t get quite comfortable afterall, and then cleared his throat.

“So, because this pisses me off so much, can I ask you some stuff? I’m really sick of being in the dark over here.”

Scott was on the verge of answering but Stiles continued anyways.

“You seem embarrassingly close to everyone. What about me?” he appeared calm asking the question even though his body slumped. “Are we friends or whatever? Do I hate you? Do I worship you too? I don’t have much to work with.”

Scott thought about that for a few seconds and could have easily answered. He could have spelled out their entire, complex, strangely dependent relationship. He could have spilled their life story but he didn’t. He watched Stiles seriously instead.

“What do _you_ think?”

 

_What do you see? How do you feel sitting here?_

 

Stiles gaped, throwing his hands out wildly.

 

“Dude! How should I know? What do you _think_ that I think?”

 

 _Dude_.

 

Scott didn’t know that one word could vibrate through him and bring the most honest smile his face has felt in months. It was a wonderful feeling.

Stiles paused and observed Scott, his expression melting a little. It became soft and more understanding and he breathed in slowly, a bit unsteady.

The world clicked into place a little. At least that’s what Scott believed. They stared at each other for too long and Stiles coughed, turning his head.

“Uh,” he lost his words for a few tense moments before sputtering out more, “Okay, Scott, at least tell me how we met or something.”

“Fine,” Scott complied. It was becoming more bearable to talk to Stiles by the minute, because he missed talking to him. So much. He inhaled and exhaled, not needing any time to recall the memory.

“You peed on my sandcastle when we were kids. It was at the park.”

“Wait - _kids_? How long have I known you?” Stiles demanded, flickering his eyes back to Scott, dumbfounded. Scott tilted his head.

“Pretty much our whole lives.”

“You stayed friends with me after I peed on your - _what?_ Why? That was such a dick move - no pun intended.”

They broke out into laughter, a warm and familiar one. It felt great until somebody nearby shushed them. Stiles was about to spout some colorful language but Scott kicked his ankle under the table.

“Hey, don’t get me kicked out. Not unless you want to keep up your dick reputation.”

“Well, I can’t disappoint -” Stiles snorted, “apparently that’s what you’re into.”

He didn’t seem bothered by the kick at all. He even kicked Scott lightly back. Then a weird haze fell over his eyes - like he realized something important. But it disappeared and he scratched his wrist evasively, speaking again.

“ _So_ , we’re childhood friends then.”

“Basically.”

“Hm.”

The typhoon of confusion on Stiles’ face mellowed and he pondered that. Scott’s heart thumped harder.

“Okay, prove it,” he challenged, using his low voice again - obviously not because he cared about the rules or anything. It was more as if he liked the idea of keeping their conversation just between them. It drew Scott in and he pushed himself closer to Stiles, draping over the table further, enticed.

“There’s a scar on your right knee,” Scott whispered back, daring him to object. Stiles lowered his eyes to his own legs on instinct. “You got it when we went skateboarding after dark in seventh grade. At a water plant.”

“ _Or_ \- you’re making that up.”

“Your favorite movie is star wars - “ Scott kept going, ignoring the surprise on Stiles’ face, “ - you own the entire collection and you’re subscribed to a crap ton of Sci-fi magazines. Your favorite flavor of ice cream is reese's, favorite color is red, and you hate wearing cologne because it makes your nose wrinkle.”

Stiles appeared as if he might interrupt but doesn’t, he just listened, shocked.

“You like girls _and_ guys. I’m the only one who knows that,” Scott smiled slightly, amused by the blush creeping on Stiles’ cheeks but there’s no follow up denial so he continued, “You spend most of your free time researching supernatural stuff to help the pack but your dream job before all this was to play baseball. And you were actually really good at it when we were kids. The high school didn’t have a team so we settled for lacrosse. You space out a lot and go on tangents and you’re so blunt it physically makes me cringe sometimes but. . . You’re also overly protective and incredibly loyal. And you would sacrifice anything to help the people you care about. That's probably what makes you the best friend that I - ”

Scott couldn’t finish the sentence. His eyes were stinging and his mouth went dry. Damn.

Stiles blinked too, taking all that in. He didn’t stir, his nails quit scraping over his arm, his foot stopped wiggling under the table.

“Glimpses,” Stiles murmured - to himself more than Scott, “I can see glimpses of lacrosse now. We joined Freshman year. Coach cursed us out the first day.”

“ _Thank God_ ,” Scott exasperated, sucking in sharply and rubbing the back of his hair, hoping the stutter went unnoticed by Stiles. The memories were resurfacing in his own head now, making him wonder how they ever fought before. How they ever let Theo come between them.

“And you joined even though you have asthma,” Stiles added, eyes widening, “I remember. It’s there - you’ve always had asthma, right?”

“Used to,” Scott laughed, somewhere between desperation and excitement, “But the werewolf thing took care of that.”

“No, no that’s not - “ Stiles shook his head and jumped up, circling the table, sitting down next to Scott and turning his body towards him, “No. It was recently. You were coughing a lot. Your asthma was - you were having trouble breathing.”

“Oh, yeah. That. Temporary asthma. Theo caused it. I’m okay now. He was putting mountain ash in my - ”

“ _Theo_.”

Stiles didn’t take long to think about that name before he snarled.

“Right. The bastard that got dragged to hell where he belonged.”

“Oh,” Scott muttered, “you remember Theo.”

He clenched his fist on the table, turning away from Stiles so he could stare at the bookshelves. “You remember him.”

The library filled with murky water all of a sudden and Scott might as well have gotten asthma again because his lungs were collapsing. He tried to ignore the burning sensation and shrunk his shoulders. Stiles scooted the chair forward, invading Scott’s personal bubble.

“Shit, sorry, no don’t - “ the sincerity in his voice actually made Scott swerve his head back to him, “I’m sorry. I’m trying to remember. I don’t know why but - I _need_ to know you. I _want_ to remember you.”

Scott’s vision cleared instantaneously from the affection in his voice because he’s using the tone he has reserved for Scott and nobody else.

“I can’t explain but I’m kind of a mess around you,” Stiles murmured, clearly uncomfortable admitting to it, “It’s weird.”

“Mmm.”

“Seriously not helpful,” Stiles blurted honestly, lip twitching up.

“Fine, let’s jog your memory then,” Scott decided, lowering his hand from the table, “Come on.”

“Wait, what?”

“Just trust me.”

And even though Stiles has never trusted a soul in his life without an endless list of information to prove that they’re safe - he took one look at Scott and stood up, following him straight out of the library.

 

 

“Remember anything yet?”

“No. How is this helpful again?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before. I’m kind of improvising.”

Stiles’ thumbs went rapid over the playstation controller and he was sprawled out on Scott’s computer chair, eyes on the television.

“We played video games a lot,” Scott shrugged, “Sorry. I thought it might trigger something.”

“Hmm.”

After a few more rounds, they turned the game off and Stiles crossed his arms, drumming his knuckles lazily over his pants with a frown.

“Maybe it needs to be something else. Something that would stand out more to me. Like a big event, you know?”

“I guess? Let me think.”

Scott rested his eyes and laid on the floor, musing over what could possibly be the most memorable for Stiles. There were many things that he remembered, that he thought were significant, but did Stiles think so? What would Stiles care about the most?

He was interrupted by Stiles scampering on the floor next to him and laying down too, face towards the ceiling, lips pursed as if he can actually help.

“Can I ask you something kind of unrelated?”

Scott grew weary and swallowed, nodding. Stiles gulped and closed his eyes too.

“What did I do after my mom died?”

The sun from the window was glimmering on the walls and draping the room in a pale blue light. Scott opened his mouth and then shut it, knowing that Stiles was waiting uncharacteristically patient for answers.

“You can’t remember your mom, Stiles?”

“It’s not that,” Stiles protested, curling his fingers into the carpet, “I can remember her dying and I can remember how she looked and her voice - But _after_ she died, it’s foggy again. I don’t remember how I dealt with it. What did I think about it? Did I cry?”

“Well, yeah, of course -”

“I’m pretty sure the reason I can’t remember is the same as why the other parts of my memory are blank.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s foggy in my memories if you’re there,” Stiles sighed, “So you must have been around a lot after she died.”

Scott stayed soundless. He heard Stiles shift at his side.

“I think,” Stiles continued, “You must have been a really big part of my life if I can’t remember that much of it.”

“You know,” Scott smiled weakly, “Maybe it’s not so bad that you forgot. You weren’t exactly in the best place when that happened, Stiles.”

Before Stiles could object or agree, Scott sat up and didn’t stop talking.

“What I’m saying is that - maybe it’s not so bad you’ve forgotten a lot over the years. There were bad memories. A lot of stuff you’re better off not knowing.”

Stiles sat up too, quiet at first. He picked some lint off his shirt and sighed.

“There is this one dream I keep having. I can smell gasoline and there’s a fire burning brightly in front of me. My nostrils fill with smoke and I’m saying something desperately, begging someone - I assume it’s you -  not to do something. I can hear Allison and Lydia behind me. The weirdest part though is that - “

Stiles cut himself off and swallowed, laughing a little towards the floor. It didn’t last for very long and his voice was strained as he spoke again.

“I know I’m about to die in the dream. But I’m not afraid. I’m okay with it. How am I _okay_ with dying? Do you know what that feels like? I seriously have no idea why.”

Scott’s nerves tore up into a thousand pieces on the spot, scattering.

He knew exactly what memory that was.

 

The night at the motel.

 

“Don’t try to remember that,” he pleaded, “Okay? Don’t care about that. It’s good that you forgot.”

“No, listen to me, okay - It keeps replaying every night, I can’t forget - “

“Forget it, Stiles. Trust me. It won’t matter - “

 

“I don’t want to forget _anything_ about you!”

 

Stiles jumped up off the floor and Scott looked up, feeling a numb pass over his body.

“I know that I can’t,” he explained quickly, “Got that? I _can’t_.”

“Stiles - “

“I’m going to remember everything,” Stiles responded fiercely, pacing, “You can either help me or not.”

Scott was at a loss. He turned his head to the side and couldn’t help the smile that was starting to creep up. That stubbornness was a breath of fresh air.

“Okay, I have an idea.”

“I'm guessing you’re not going to tell me about this dream thing then?” Stiles stated more than asked. Scott said nothing and went to the door.

“I want to, Stiles. Okay? It’s not easy to say but I _will_ tell you, I swear. Give me a little time.”

“Oh, yeah, like you’re the one suffering over here,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

He still went after Scott anyways.

 

 

It was already nightfall which was more fitting for this little experiment. Scott held the baseball bat in his hand and walked slowly outside, onto the porch of his house. He turned the corner and peaked at the vines cascading from the roof. It was weird. Retracing his footsteps like this, going back to that night from long ago.

As planned, Stiles appeared suddenly from the tree, hanging upside down and they screamed at the same time - shrill and scared shitless. Man, Scott hasn’t screamed like that in forever.

Stiles flailed for a good few seconds, swinging back and forth, and then let his arms dangle in defeat.

“Did it work?” Scott asked, lowering the baseball bat.

“Nope,” Stiles deadpanned, “Why the hell didn’t I just use the front door back then? Did I really have to climb a tree?”

"I don't know. You do weird crap all the time."

"You're a very supportive friend."

"And you're a grateful one."

Stiles snorted and Scott laughed while reaching out to help his friend down. The second he touched Stiles, Stiles shuddered and gazed at him, lips parting. 

“What? Did you remember something?”

“Um,” Stiles trailed his eyes to Scott’s outstretched arm - dazing out - but before any more words escaped, he fell straight out of the tree with a harsh _thump._ Unable to hold back, Scott burst into laughter.

“You okay?” he snorted as Stiles rubbed his most likely sore ass off and stood, glowering.

“Peachy.”

Scott’s cheeks were losing feeling from how hard he was smiling. Eventually, Stiles returned the smile, hopping clumsily over the porch banister.

“I can kind of remember,” he drawled, hands topping the railing. “I remember leaving my house after hearing about the half body - corpse, whatever. And I know I came here but it’s a blur after that.”

“I missed this.”

Stiles whipped his head towards Scott instantly. Scott leaned over the railing too, still grinning. He couldn’t help but recollect the small details of his friendship with Stiles. The simple times. Before the bite.

“I missed laughing with you and just - ” he paused, finding the right words, “- Just hanging out I guess. It got too crazy for this kind of stuff after that night in the woods. I never realized how much I took it for granted back then.”

Stiles moved warily and tapped the wood with the sole of his shoe.

“This sucks.”

Scott’s smile fell and he watched the night sky, gulping down that hard lump again.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get your memories back somehow.”

"Yeah," he sighed, "I believe you."

Scott's heart fluttered into his throat.

 

 

It’s the next day, a Saturday, when Stiles visited Scott’s house again.

The plan for the day was to do whatever to juggle Stiles' memories again. Make him relive the past. They played catch in the yard, with a dusty baseball Scott found in his drawer. Then they took a ride in Stiles’ jeep and skateboarded on a deserted road for a while. They ate at their favorite burger joint and window shopped at the mall, never really wanting to buy anything but food.

It was awesome.

The two had so much fun that the objective got lost along the way.

It was like being kids again. That’s what Scott thought.

He loved the sparkle in Stiles’ eye. The one that was hard to find in the last few months. During the time they spent together, Stiles recalled stuff every now and then, remembering doing this stuff with Scott. Which meant his memory was coming back.

Things like getting detention together, going to the park, listening to their favorite bands before bed on weekends, taking adventures into the woods, stuff that Scott himself sometimes forgot about. It was nice. Talking about this stuff with Stiles after so long.

 

Around sundown, Stiles and Scott decided to take a break from playing around, and ended up back in the woods. Scott lead Stiles to the cliff that overlooked Beacon Hills and they sat down, glad to regain energy after a long day.

“All day, I’ve been piecing together my childhood,” Stiles said suddenly, picking up a more serious tone. You wouldn’t know he was laughing his heart out about twenty seconds ago. “And I was right. Most of it _was_ with you.”

“Hey, don’t act like you figured it out. I told you we were childhood friends,” Scott chuckled, pushing some dirt with his sneaker. Stiles smiled briefly.

“But something still bugs me about it.”

“Hm? What's up?”

“Why was it so easy to remember all that stuff but other things - other memories I try to remember won’t come to me. Ones like the smoke one. No matter what, I can't seem to remember them. There have been other dreams besides that one, Scott.”

Scott inhaled and gazed out at the dawn lit city. What could he say?

“Okay. Tell me what else you see.”

“It’s kind of dark in one dream,” Stiles began, “There’s rain and I’m holding something metal and begging forgiveness but I - “

Stiles lowered his head so Scott wasn’t able to see his eyes anymore and sucked in another breath. Scott was speechless. Stiles barely talked to him about any of this.

That had to be the night that caused a rift in their friendship.

 

_No._

_Don't remember that._

_Forget._

_It's okay to forget._

 

“In another dream, there's a gun pressed to my forehead,” Stiles diverged, like he wanted to stray as far from that last memory as possible. “It’s cold and - _wait_ , why the hell do I feel like I'm the master at cheating death or something?"

Scott didn't laugh. Neither did Stiles.

"I know any second I’ll be shot," Stiles explained, "but then the guy with the gun dies right in front of me. Someone killed him and saved me. It’s just that - I’m not worried about it. I’m worried about someone else.”

Scott stared at Stiles’ profile, the outline of his lashes and lips and tangled hair. Stiles rubbed his neck, catching his breath before he went on.

“I don’t care about witnessing someone die in front of me. I run off. I run and run until my legs are on fire. Then I get to this stone wall and I pound on it, screaming out - shouting over and over. It’s the most desperate I’ve ever felt because whoever I’m calling doesn’t hear me. That sucks, you know? Why don't they answer? I can't shout anymore and I go sort of numb, sort of hopeless - I slide to the floor, realizing that I’ve failed and never want to get up from that spot. I never want to move or speak ever again. I _want_ to die by that wall.”

Stiles finally glanced up at Scott, eyes shimmering, eyebrows scrunched up.

“Why? Why can I want to die even though seconds ago I was scared of being shot? Tell me - _please_ -”

Scott’s eyes widened and he looked away in a hurry, unable to answer. His throat clamped up and his pulse elevated under the pain that’s trickling into his bloodstream now. That's a memory he's tucked away.

Imagining Stiles on the other side of the Hale vault haunted him numerous nights. It was something they never talked about. Just like the motel. Just like other nights that were supposed to be far away.

“Scott,” Stiles whispered brokenly, moving closer until Scott could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body.

In a flash of spent time together, through loss and laughter, through suffering and hope - it dawned on Scott what happened to Stiles. That Stiles' brain must have pushed back all these memories because of guilt or because of fear. The amnesia was almost a saving grace, to make Stiles forget these moments so he could move on and never look back.

“Stiles,” Scott gave in, barely audible, “I think I have an idea of why you suppressed those memories over the others. What happens in them that made you try and erase it.”

Stiles didn’t say anything but dragged his knee into the dirt so he could lean closer to Scott and hear better. Scott felt a wall tumble over inside and he almost groaned out in anger and sorrow at the realization. The unstable guilt shook his core as he met Stiles’ eyes again.

 

“You thought you lost me.”

 

Stiles didn’t seem surprised by Scott’s words. His eyelids fell slightly and even though he appeared on the verge of tears, none escaped. Some of the glaze in his vision lightened as he put an unsteady hand on the fabric of Scott’s sleeve. There was a shift in his actions, an intimacy about them that's been missing for a long time - as if he reverted to his normal self.

 

“I don’t want to lose you ever ag-” he broke off and stopped. Then he just stared. His eyes were wet and his fingers jerked against Scott’s arm.

 

“You won’t, Stiles,” Scott promised softly, vowing it from the depth of his soul.

 

He wished he said this lifetimes ago. He wished they talked about this forever ago.

 

When Scott wanted to kill himself and Stiles was ready to go with him. That’s when he should have realized it.

Or the night Scott went off with Deucalion and Stiles looked at him as if the sun would never set another day because the light just faded out before his eyes.

And the night Scott left Stiles in the rain because they were both hurt and lonely and lost - and Stiles had pleaded for him to stay, so afraid of _abandonment_.

In the hospital, when Stiles thought he had his mother’s disease and he held onto Scott with everything, desperate, terrified - even though there were so many times before he was ready to leave this world. But that time he _knew_ he was scared of dying because his reasoning for wanting to live was in his arms.

 

“Don’t leave me behind, Scotty,” Stiles murmured, searching Scott’s face frantically, “ _I need you_.”

Scott could see now, in the glassiness of his eyes, in the emotions of his voice - Stiles remembered everything.

 

 

_You’re my best friend and I need you._

_You still got me._

_If you have it, we’ll do something - I’ll do something._

_The plan is to save you._

_I think you’re just gonna have to take me with you._

 

 

Scott wrapped his arms around Stiles and pulled him close, enough to where their erratic heartbeats intertwined. He would never let anything tear them apart again. Werewolves, chimera, kanima, dread doctors - they survived so much already. They could survive anything.

Scott breathed into Stiles’ neck heavily and a rush of fear and happiness and love came over him - a mess of emotions that could be sorted out later - and he kissed him there like he had to leave this promise hidden deep within his skin.

 

So that Stiles will never forget.

 

“You’ll always have me, Stiles.”


End file.
